


The Two-Way Mirror Mountain

by spockandawe



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Angel Wings, Angels, Fallen Angels, Idiots in Love, M/M, Metaphysical Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 06:56:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19312960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spockandawe/pseuds/spockandawe
Summary: All things considered, it was much too easy to fall back into the cozy familiarity of… call it old routines. Though even from the start, Aziraphale knew that wasn’t quite correct. Yes, over the centuries, having a meal with Crowley or going to a show together had become entirely too comfortable, but that wasn’t to say that they did these thingsterriblyoften. It had all started long before the Arrangement and settling down in London had inevitably pushed them closer together, but there were still those times when they went entire years without meeting up once, and that all made it so much easier to hold onto the fiction that these encounters wereoccasional.This had gone beyond occasional. This had accelerated past regular, shot past frequent, and appeared to be making a very serious effort to reach all the way toconstant.The last shred of propriety hanging between them, making a hapless effort to maintain even a threadbare facade of respectability, was the simple fact that they weren’t able to spend every single moment of every single day in company together.





	The Two-Way Mirror Mountain

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](https://spockandawe.tumblr.com/post/185762484956/the-two-way-mountain-mirror-spockandawe-good)   
>  [Twitter](https://twitter.com/spockandawe/status/1142275824982401024)

All things considered, it was much too easy to fall back into the cozy familiarity of… call it old routines. Though even from the start, Aziraphale knew that wasn’t quite correct. Yes, over the centuries, having a meal with Crowley or going to a show together had become entirely too comfortable, but that wasn’t to say that they did these things _terribly_ often. It had all started long before the Arrangement and settling down in London had inevitably pushed them closer together, but there were still those times when they went entire years without meeting up once, and that all made it so much easier to hold onto the fiction that these encounters were _occasional._

This had gone beyond occasional. This had accelerated past regular, shot past frequent, and appeared to be making a very serious effort to reach all the way to _constant._ The last shred of propriety hanging between them, making a hapless effort to maintain even a threadbare facade of respectability, was the simple fact that they weren’t able to spend every single moment of every single day in company together.

Aziraphale was determinedly not counting the minutes, but he was almost certain that the time they’d spent apart for their respective trials was longer than any interval they’d spent apart in the time since.

And that was— Well. If he was resolved not to count the minutes, he _certainly_ wasn’t going to let down his guard far enough to think about what that might actually _mean._ Besides, it didn’t have to actually mean anything. This was just two— two friends, taking a vacation from their work. Possibly a permanent vacation, considering how thoroughly they’d severed their ties with their respective factions, but still. All the more reason to enjoy the break together.

It wasn’t even that they even spent that much time talking. But that was just another question to avoid asking, whether it was better or worse that they spent so much time in company when they didn’t strictly have an _explanation_ for why they couldn’t just pass that time on their own.

Besides, they were both entirely capable of spending time apart. Aziraphale had his shop, of course. And Crowley had his own private business to attend to. Sometimes Crowley was gone for several whole hours before making his way back to the bookshop. Anyways, if nothing else, there was the simple fact that Crowley preferred to sleep regularly, while Aziraphale had never really formed the habit. That was practically the same thing as time apart, even when Crowley did tend to do it in sprawled in a chair in Aziraphale’s shop, or in his own flat after he’d invited Aziraphale back for drinks, when it seemed much too rude to leave without even saying goodbye.

Even if that had happened so many times that Aziraphale had started leaving a few manuscripts at Crowley’s flat, just so he wouldn’t have to go to the trouble of summoning them from the shop himself.

And anyways, the temperature controls in the flat were even better than the shop for preserving the old parchment. Leaving them there was just a sensible thing to do.

But despite an angelically powerful determination to not think about it, the change of seasons made it much harder to avoid realizing how long the situation had been… a situation. In summer, things had only just happened, and autumn, well, autumn came right after summer, that was no time at all. But the grey, rainy winter was so far removed from the summer that it became _very_ difficult to keep ignoring that it had been months since he and Crowley had spent any significant amount of time apart.

Once Crowley was persuading him that it was eminently sensible and practical for Crowley to go about the city as a snake, wrapped around Aziraphale’s neck and tucked securely under a coat and scarf— Arrangement or not, _Apocalypse_ or not, there was no reason Aziraphale should have agreed to this so easily. There was no reason Aziraphale should have been so comfortable with the weight of Crowley resting on his shoulders as he made his way through the streets, having conversations about dinner with a muffled voice coming up from his coat. And above all else, there was _absolutely_ no reason to think about the forthcoming warmth of spring and how then there would be no excuse then to carry Crowley this way.

Perhaps in another situation— In another life, even just another time, maybe he would have found some reason to take a trip across the globe, visit a few continents. To get some space and clear his head. But now, when he even considered it— Just that much, and he caught himself turning in his seat to be sure he could see Crowley from the corner of his eye, or finding a play that night that he—they—simply _must_ see, a concert he’d been wanting to hear for months, anything.

The only comfort was that Crowley wasn’t talking about it either. The way a conversation like that would go— It didn't bear thinking about. And anyways, Crowley followed him about just as easily as he followed Crowley, or, as Aziraphale kept telling himself, they just so happened to want to do all the same things as each other and it was simply more convenient to do them together.

It wasn’t a particularly convincing lie. It held the line admirably, and it served its duty for months longer than he had any right to expect, but eventually it began to buckle and crumble under the weight of Aziraphale’s growing certainty that whatever this was, _it couldn’t last._

Once he admitted that much to himself, Crowley seemed to understand that something was… happening. He watched Aziraphale more closely than was comfortable, even by a definition of ‘comfortable’ that had been rapidly shifting to accommodate greater and greater degrees of closeness. When Aziraphale came into the shop and removed his coat, Crowley stayed draped around his neck as a snake, dozing in the warmth, until Aziraphale insisted he find a different place to sit— Which was sometimes hours later, or perhaps didn’t even occur before time slipped away from him and Crowley had to remind him that they needed to leave or they’d be late for the show, and it turned out they’d spent the whole day together, just like this.

It couldn’t last. It _couldn’t._ If it did— If it _did_ was immaterial, because it couldn’t. They’d made enemies of both the heavenly and infernal hosts, and they would have already suffered the consequences if Agnes hadn’t left them that last warning. Now the warning was gone, but Heaven and Hell were still very much there. It wouldn’t be safe to let himself count on Crowley always being at hand, just like this.

And it wouldn’t be _right_ to let Crowley talk himself into complacency. It wouldn't be right to let him talk himself into believing that Aziraphale would always be _here._

So he had to do something. He tried to time it carefully. _Delicately._ But once he started planning, he could just _feel_ Crowley studying him, and he wasn’t sure whether it would be better or worse if Crowley guessed what this was all about. He almost talked himself out of it altogether several times. The current state of things couldn’t possibly last, but it had been so easy and domestic and _comfortable_ that it was so, so tempting to believe it _could_ be forever.

In the end, he did it at his shop, in the back room, after they’d both had enough alcohol that Crowley was at the stage of enthusiastically trying to explain film plots to him, and Aziraphale had a fuzzy, safe degree of separation from the upcoming situation. He looked at Crowley’s glasses where they sat on the table as Crowley gestured expansively, describing all the reasons why it might be necessary to carry out a heist inside someone’s dreams.

“I’d been thinking I might go on a trip,” Aziraphale eventually ventured.

Crowley nodded, pouring himself another glass of wine. “Sure, sure. Should be nice.”

That— wasn’t precisely the reaction Aziraphale had expected. He pushed a little harder. “Maybe heading south through Africa, catch up on some of the sights, you know. Then crossing over through Antarctica and coming back north through the Americas.”

“Could go off over the Pacific, you know. Visit Australia and Asia too while you’re at it.”

Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure whether to be relieved, wounded, or something else altogether. He took the bottle and poured himself some more wine, which was an excellent excuse for him to look away. “I don’t suppose I could persuade you to watch my shop while I’m gone?”

Even with his eyes fixed firmly on his hands, he could still see the way Crowley froze. The silence stretched out for a few uncomfortable seconds before Crowley responded.

“Watch your shop?”

“Well, yes.” Aziraphale kept looking at his hands, fiddling with the stem of his glass. “If I’m to wander around _all_ the continents, I expect that will take a while. I’d appreciate someone keeping an eye on the place, after, well. You know.”

“Oh.”

Nothing after that. Aziraphale was still trying not to look at Crowley, but he could see him pick up his glasses from the table and put them on. Then take his glass and drain it. Then pour himself more wine.

Finally, Aziraphale forced out, “Is that a problem? _”_

More silence, long enough he wondered if Crowley was even going to answer. Then Crowley said, “Just you going on the trip, then.”

Aziraphale’s head snapped up before he could help himself, but Crowley’s face was already closed off and distant. His mouth was flat and expressionless, and his eyes were hidden away behind the glasses. There was still plenty there to _read,_ of course, plenty to see in the way he was carrying himself, in the way he crossed his arms over his chest as Aziraphale watched. But in some ways it was even more telling just to see the degree to which he was closing himself off.

And really, that was just unfair. It wasn’t— It wasn’t as though Aziraphale _wanted_ to go off alone in the first place. And it wasn’t as though it was easy for him to make that suggestion. He did it because it was necessary, or at least _important,_ and he had to steel himself into doing it in the first place, but now with Crowley here and _looking_ like that, he could already feel himself wavering. “I mean— If you wanted to accompany me, perhaps we could work something out—”

“No.” Crowley wasn’t moving, just watching him. “‘S fine. You go sightseeing. I’ve got plenty to do right here.”

“—and you know I’m always happy to spend time with you, of course—”

“Couldn’t leave London, much too busy to even consider it.”

“—so I really must _insist_ on extending an invitation to you before I make any further plans,” Aziraphale finished, a little desperately.

He smiled at Crowley, but Crowley’s face stayed just as flat as before. He didn’t say anything for long enough that even the silence started scuffing its toes on the floor, looking around the room hunting for an excuse to make its escape.

Aziraphale cracked first. “It isn’t that I don’t _want_ you there,” he began.

“No, no, you made yourself perfectly clear.” Crowley finally unfolded his arms, but only so he could pick up his glass again.

Originally, doing this over drinks had been deliberate. Just a little alcohol to smooth the way over the inevitable awkwardness, something to distract them from all the parts of this they weren’t talking about. But that was before this entire conversation started to slip out of his control. “My dear, I think perhaps we should sober up.”

“Absolutely not. Whatever you’re trying to do, I’m not dealing with it sober.” He reached for the bottle and poured himself more wine.

“Well I’m not going to do it if you won’t.”

Crowley raised the glass in a toast. “That’s all settled, then. Cheers.”

 _Fine._ Aziraphale plucked the bottle from Crowley’s other hand. If he couldn’t be less drunk, at the very least he could be _more_ drunk.

Once he’d finished his own glass, he tried again. “You must be able to see it. If we keep on like this—”

“Like this?”

 _“If we keep on like this._ What Heaven will think of it— Doesn’t bear thinking about, what everyone _up there_ would think about it.”

Crowley snorted. “Think they already made it plenty clear.”

“But that’s not, not the _point._ Point is. Could happen any time. They see us down here, fraternizing. And they’re reminded that oh right, that, maybe we should go tie up that loose end.”

“Already did that. Remember? How much wine have you had?”

 _“No,_ that’s not it.” Aziraphale finished his glass and set it on the table so he could gesture with both hands. “They can always, you know. Try again. Try new things. _Inventive_ things.”

Crowley gave him a skeptical look. “So you think we pretend we don’t know each other and Heaven, what, forgets anything ever happened?”

“That’s what I _mean._ They won’t. Not going to forget. Lots of people who know how to hold a grudge, from the top down.”

“From the bottom up too,” Crowley added gloomily.

Aziraphale leaned in closer. “You see? _That’s_ why it’s important.”

“That’s why it’s important to leave me in London. While you go off wandering all over the planet.”

“No, it’s, you know. _Safer.”_

Crowley nodded. “Right, yeah. It’s _safer_ to leave me in London. And go off alone.”

Aziraphale fought the urge to shout. Instead, he took a long moment to turn back to the table and pour himself more wine. Then, keeping his voice carefully level, he said, “It’s safer to be _able_ to be alone.”

“Dunno what you mean.” Crowley set his empty glass down on the table and crossed his arms again. He still hadn’t made a move to take off his sunglasses. “I just said I’d stay here while you went off on your little vacation. Sounds like _’able to be alone’_ to me.”

“You aren’t _listening._ It’s about, about _distance._ What if, if the worst happens, what if Heaven comes back again and I die—”

Abruptly, Crowley pushed up from the table and stood, hard enough that his glass tipped over. “You _did_ die, angel!”

It knocked Aziraphale’s train of thought entirely off the rails. For a few long seconds, he couldn’t think of anything to say.

Crowley’s hands were in fists at his sides. “As far as I knew, you did.”

Slowly, Aziraphale got to his feet, took two steps around the table. “My dear—”

Crowley looked away from him, his jaw tight. “And the distance isn’t worth it.”

“My dear, I’m so sorry.” Aziraphale reached out for Crowley, carefully, unsure whether this was the right thing to do just now, but unable to stop himself.

At first Crowley just held himself perfectly motionless, still looking away from him as he drew closer. That lasted until Aziraphale’s fingers brushed his hand and he jerked away and crossed his arms tight over his chest, still refusing to look at him.

With some effort, Aziraphale stopped where he was. “Would you like a little… space?”

“Space, I can do _space,”_ said Crowley. “Why don’t you just head off on your little trip? That sounds like it will leave me _plenty_ of space.”

Aziraphale frowned, but Crowley was still determinedly not looking towards him. “I could do that, but it does rather seem like that won’t make either of us happy.”

“Oh, now it’s _us_ , is it?”

“Stop that,” Aziraphale said, a little more sharply than he’d intended.

Crowley didn’t reply to that, just stayed where he was, not moving, with his jaw still clenched. Though he wasn’t… moving _away._ Which might not mean anything, but—

Aziraphale reached out again, slowly, and put a hand on his arm. He felt Crowley twitch, just slightly, but he didn’t pull away this time. Of course, he still didn’t know what to _say,_ but he nudged Crowley down towards his chair, and then found his own seat again, so they were looking at each other across the table. Crowley was looking at him now, though he still hadn’t said a word. His eyes were still hidden behind his sunglasses and the rest of his face was still blank and empty.

He couldn’t help feeling that that was a little unfair. “Look, would you mind taking your glasses off?”

Crowley shrugged one shoulder. “Don’t see a reason to.” He set his glass upright again and reached for the bottle of wine. He found it empty and made a face as he set it back down. “I’ll get another, shall I?”

He started to get up, but Aziraphale reached out to stop him. It wasn’t much, just a touch to Crowley’s hand, but he froze where he was, half-standing, looking down at Aziraphale’s hand on his.

“Could you wait a minute?” Aziraphale asked. “Not much, just—”

He couldn’t think of how to finish that sentence, but it was enough. Crowley slowly settled into his chair again, watching him warily. He left his hand on Crowley, half-afraid that if he broke that touch now, it would break the moment along with it. As Crowley sat, his hand turned upwards under Aziraphale’s so that they were palm to palm, Aziraphale’s fingertips just barely slipping under the edge of Crowley’s sleeve.

Aziraphale had to say something, he knew. After that start, if he left it to Crowley, they’d be waiting decades to finish the conversation. “I am sorry, you know.”

Crowley shrugged again. “Dunno what for.” He was still watching their hands.

“Don’t.” There was so much to ask here, all things considered. So much that _could_ be asked, but— Really, he could understand why he was worried that Crowley might run from the conversation. The more he considered the scope of everything looming over them, the more he saw the appeal of that course of action. He needed to be either much more sober or much more drunk to consider dealing with that right now, so instead he only said, “When? I mean—”

Crowley groaned. “Don’t ask _that._ ‘S too embarrassing.”

At least now Aziraphale finally felt able to smile again. “So long?”

Crowley slumped in his chair, groaning even more loudly and letting his head fall backward. But his hand stayed where it was, under Aziraphale’s. And now, Aziraphale realized he wasn’t able to look away either. He could feel Crowley’s hand, of course, but seeing it too— He let his hand move slightly, brushing his fingertips along Crowley’s wrist, up under his sleeve and back down again. Crowley was very silent, then. His only response was the way Aziraphale felt Crowley’s fingers curl in towards his own wrist.

There was so much to consider, now. So much to _reconsider._ He’d never be able to think through everything just now, rather, the wine was helping to keep the sheer scope of it at a reassuring distance. But one detail did jump out at him.

“And you thought I’d—?”

There wasn’t an answer, but he didn’t really need one when he felt the way Crowley tensed under his hand.

“Oh, _Crowley.”_

“What, you don’t think—”

He didn’t get the chance to finish that sentence, because Aziraphale was already on his feet, stepping around the table, and pulling him up into an embrace. Crowley’s voice choked off and he froze where his was, his body stiff and his arms awkwardly half-raised above Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale held him closely, letting his chin rest on Crowley’s shoulder. After a moment, he felt Crowley relax just enough to move his arms, letting them wrap loosely around Aziraphale’s shoulders.

“Really, my dear, you should have _said.”_

Crowley muttered, “Yeah, well, not exactly an easy thing to bring up.”

Aziraphale didn’t reply to that, only resettled his hands a little more firmly on Crowley’s back. A few seconds later, he felt Crowley sigh, rather than heard it, and then felt him tilt his head sideways to lean against Aziraphale’s.

“Not really a hugging sort,” Crowley said, though he didn’t make any move to pull away. Though— Aziraphale did shift backwards, unwrapping his arms from around him. Crowley released him, slowly, and Aziraphale had to smile at the look on Crowley’s face as he said, “…wasn’t saying you had to _go.”_

But Aziraphale only pulled back far enough that he could reach up to Crowley and cup his face with both hands. He studied him intently for a moment, though he couldn’t say what he was looking for. Crowley’s face— He did wish Crowley would take his glasses off, but he wasn’t going to remove them himself, and he wasn’t sure whether this was the right time to ask. At the very least, his expression— It was difficult to read. Still guarded, still wary, still not anything that could properly be called _relaxed,_ but… better.

He knew he was smiling, and could see Crowley studying him in return. And he ought to be thinking about, about propriety and _restraint_ and keeping a safe, polite distance, but the longer this lasted, the more difficult it became to remember why those things should be at all important.

Aziraphale couldn’t say which of them leaned in first to kiss the other, it just— happened. It happened, and then they were kissing, and then they couldn’t _stop_ kissing. He could feel Crowley’s hands on his waist, feel the way Crowley pressed forward into him. It was hard to notice anything else outside the two of them, outside every point their bodies met. There was desperation in the kiss, which Aziraphale’s first impulse was to credit to Crowley, but he knew that wouldn’t be entirely correct.

Crowley was trying to speak around and between kisses, which only came through as broken words and disjointed half-sentences. Aziraphale wasn’t helping the situation, pulling Crowley back to him for kiss after kiss after kiss. One of his hands slid down to Crowley’s shoulder, holding him against him. His other hand stayed on Crowley’s face, and Crowley, his eyes shut, leaned into that touch, still kissing, still doing his best to speak through those kisses. Aziraphale still wasn’t able to understand what he was saying, but he did hear it when Crowley’s voice wobbled and broke.

He forced himself to break the kiss then, breathing hard and leaning his forehead on Crowley’s shoulder. He did make sure to keep his hands were they were, holding Crowley against him. He could hear Crowley breathing unsteadily, and shut his eyes for a moment, feeling more than a little off-balance himself.

Aziraphale said, “We really ought to sober up.”

“Oh no, _absolutely_ not. I am _not_ handling this sober.”

“Fine, not all the way, if you insist. But I’d like us to be a little less drunk before we get back to, to— Before we continue. And I’m not doing it alone.”

He felt Crowley freeze again for a fraction of a moment, and felt his hands tighten on his waist. Then Crowley sighed heavily and said, _“Fine.”_

Aziraphale let his eyes drift shut again as he filtered the alcohol—some of it—out of his system, leaning into Crowley as he concentrated. Crowley pressed his face into Aziraphale’s neck as he did the same.

When Aziraphale was finished, he thought he’d made the right call. And so had Crowley, to be fair. Now he felt much more capable of handling this… _this._ But the soft fuzz of the alcohol was just enough to help him keep pushing away years and years worth of half-formed not-quite-thoughts about why this could never happen.

“Better?” he asked.

“Mm,” said Crowley, managing to convey agreement, reluctance, and skepticism without the assistance of a single word.

Aziraphale opened his mouth to say something else, but completely lost his train of thought as he felt Crowley’s lips against his neck. Then his teeth. Without consciously thinking about it, he brought up one hand to hold Crowley’s head against him. He did— He did have _something_ he’d meant to say, which didn’t even touch on how they ought to talk about what was going to come _next,_ but it was really quite unfair how difficult it was to think from one end of an idea to the other when Crowley’s mouth on him was so distracting.

He gasped out loud when Crowley nipped sharply at his neck, and Crowley made a pleased noise and pressed himself closer to Aziraphale, kissing the spot he’d just bitten. Honestly, the longer this went on, the more Aziraphale was willing to forget whatever he’d wanted say, when Crowley’s own plans were this enjoyable.

Eventually, Crowley shifted in place just far enough to get a hand between them, resting low on Aziraphale’s stomach. His mouth was still against Aziraphale’s neck when he murmured, “Like this?”

It took Aziraphale much too long to understand what he meant, and longer to pull his thoughts into any semblance of order, but in all fairness, Crowley was being _very_ distracting right now.

He managed, “No, I don’t think so.”

Crowley straightened up to look at him, lifting one eyebrow over his glasses. “Why? Never done it before?”

He was having some difficulty looking away from Crowley’s mouth, but at that, he smiled and did his best not to laugh. “My _dear.”_

“What?”

Aziraphale bent in to kiss him lightly. “Another time, perhaps. But for now… may I?”

Crowley’s expression was somewhat suspicious, but despite his best efforts, it was quickly being overtaken by instead, an expression of helpless fondness. Aziraphale thought it was a good look for him. “Alright, then. Be my guest.”

Aziraphale had to slide his arms back around Crowley, which was enjoyable enough it its own right. But he was watching Crowley’s face closely. The glasses— He’d forgotten to ask about those, but perhaps in a minute— There it was. He brushed his fingers over one of Crowley’s shoulder blades, letting his hand slip down through reality to the plane where Crowley was keeping his wings.

Crowley gasped out loud, shocked and open, clutching at Aziraphale’s shoulders. Aziraphale did it again, this time with both wings, and Crowley’s legs buckled. Aziraphale tried to help, but he landed heavily on one knee, still holding on to him, looking up at him from the ground.

He didn’t consciously decide to do it, but when Aziraphale opened his mouth he said, “Crowley, would you take your glasses off for me?”

For a long moment Crowley didn’t move, but then— Then he drew back. At first, Aziraphale felt a stab of disappointment, that he’d asked for the wrong thing and he was trying to pull _away—_ But he only shook one hand free of where his fingers were tangled into Aziraphale’s shirt, pulled off his glasses, and tossed them onto the table.

Now Aziraphale could see him properly. He took in the picture, savoring it. How wide Crowley’s eyes were, the unshielded openness of his expression, the need. _Wanting. _The faint tremor he could see in Crowley’s hand. He took that hand and tried to draw Crowley back up to his feet, but he didn’t move, only stayed where he was on the floor, kneeling in front of Aziraphale.__

____

“Angel,” he begged, his voice hoarse.

____

That— Gratification and unease both flooded into Aziraphale in a dizzying rush. Crowley— He liked having Crowley like this, he liked it very much. But right here, right now, Crowley giving himself over to Aziraphale’s mercy and kneeling before him like a supplicant—

____

Perhaps… another time. Later. After he had time to take in all the particulars of everything Crowley had been waiting to tell him. After he had time to do it justice. After he had a deeper understanding of what Crowley was and wasn’t offering to him, and was able to answer the unasked question in the way it deserved.

____

And so, Aziraphale went to his knees before Crowley. He reached out to Crowley to draw him close again, kissed him once, gently, and pulled him into an embrace. He felt Crowley breathlessly laugh once against his shoulder as he reached around him to find the base of his wings.

____

Crowley arched into him at the first touch, and managed to say, “You want me to bring them here?”

____

“I don’t think so. Can you keep them where they are for me?”

____

At that Crowley laughed again, louder, and he pulled back far enough to get a better look at Aziraphale. “Sadist. Always knew you were wasted on Heaven.”

____

That made Aziraphale smile. Crowley was grinning too, until they met in another kiss and found much better uses for their mouths than smiling. The kiss started out light and affectionate, but became deeper and more desperate as Aziraphale slipped his hands through dimensions, running his hands along and through Crowley’s wings.

____

It wasn’t long before Crowley tried to retaliate. His hands slid around Aziraphale’s waist and up his back, seeking out the base of his wings. He shivered pleasantly when Crowley found them, feeling the shock of contact against wings that didn’t currently exist on this plane, the tension of holding them in a separate reality despite the touch of fingers running over and along his feathers. It all added wonderful new dimensions to the reactions he was pulling from Crowley now, comparing the sensation of Crowley’s hands on him to the way his hands must feel to Crowley.

____

Still, at least this time, Aziraphale had a lead on Crowley. He found the places that made Crowley gasp against his mouth, the places that made him shiver, the places that pulled little shocked noises from him. He mapped out everything of Crowley he could reach, corporal flesh and wings and the places they didn’t meet, moving over and through him in ways that didn’t strictly follow the rules of physics. He shut his eyes, savoring the way Crowley's hands moved over his body in the same way, but didn’t falter and kept urging Crowley onward.

____

Crowley lost track of the kiss before Aziraphale did. It was becoming more difficult to concentrate, more difficult to hold onto his focus when there was so _much_ happening. But Crowley was the one to break away first, his lips still parted, gasping for air. For a moment, he looked at Aziraphale with wide eyes, almost— almost overwhelmed, or frightened. Aziraphale urged him in closer, and Crowley curled forward into him, pressing his face into Aziraphale’s shoulder. His hands were still on Aziraphale’s wings, but his hands were nearly still, almost just holding on for support as Aziraphale touched him.

____

It wasn’t easy to remember how to speak, but Aziraphale leaned his head against Crowley’s and managed, “Now. Let go for me?”

____

Crowley made a muffled noise against Aziraphale’s shirt— And there it was. Aziraphale felt the energy wash through him, a rush of pleasurable heat that almost reached to the point of pain. Crowley’s fingers dug into Aziraphale’s back as the release took him, wave after wave. Aziraphale let go of his wings so he could hold Crowley against him as he shook, his hands pressed to Crowley’s back as he clung to Aziraphale.

____

It faded quickly, but Aziraphale stayed where he was, holding Crowley to him. Eventually, Crowley let go of him, groaned, and pushed his way upright. He scrubbed a hand over his face and shot Aziraphale a distinctly disgruntled look.

____

Still on the whole, he seemed pleased enough, so Aziraphale wasn’t particularly worried when he asked, “Is something the matter?”

____

“Something the matter? I don’t know, how about that you didn’t let _me_ finish what I was doing before you decided to go for broke?”

____

Aziraphale couldn’t help smiling. “Yes, there was that. But you know, if I’d let you distract me that thoroughly, I wouldn’t have been able to enjoy watching you quite so much.”

____

Crowley was already opening his mouth for a retort, but at that, he choked, flushed, and stared for a moment before he visibly pulled himself back under control.

____

Before he could speak up, Aziraphale placidly added, “And now, of course, you’re more than free to return the favor.”

____

Crowley was trying not to smile and doing a terrible job of hiding it. “Angel,” he said.

____

There wasn’t any need to reply. Aziraphale reached out to him, cupping his face in his hands as Crowley put his arms back around Aziraphale’s waist. They were already close, but leaned in closer to each other, tilting their foreheads together. Aziraphale couldn’t stop watching Crowley’s face. At first, Crowley was studying him in return, but after a moment, he closed his eyes and laughed once, helplessly. _“Angel,”_ he repeated, and after that, there wasn’t anything else that needed saying.

____

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](https://spockandawe.tumblr.com/post/185762484956/the-two-way-mountain-mirror-spockandawe-good)   
>  [Twitter](https://twitter.com/spockandawe/status/1142275824982401024)


End file.
